


following victor

by Lua



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Steter Week 2017, Time Loop, Unbeta'd, season one rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lua/pseuds/Lua
Summary: Peter isn't sure he ever escaped the Hunt. He could be going crazy; he could've imagined it all. The only certainty he does have is that he has to do whatever he can to help save Stiles.[steter week - day one]





	following victor

Peter was burning.

He had been burning for years; the pain was always the same and he wasn’t sure it was real. It felt like a nightmare he had once and, yet, it felt real. This was the real thing. The rift was fire and Peter could feel himself going mad again, burning again. He howled. He could feel his skin melting. He was screaming, it hurt it hurt, not again, please, not again. The rift was fire; he was afraid, he was terrified, he wanted it to stop. He could feel his skin peeling off; he could feel the liquid pooling in the wounds and oozing from them. He could imagine the pus; he could feel the pain and smell the charred darkened skin. He wanted to fight it somehow, he wanted to go back because being forgotten was better than this except it wasn’t, he needed to escape and Stiles was counting on him. This was the only way. He was the only hope but this pain was too familiar and it would’ve been the same, it was the same except, this time, it was tinted green at the edges.

Peter wanted to puke. He was dizzy; he had no idea where the rider went.

He wanted to howl again and call for a pack long gone. He wanted to howl and call for the pack that wasn’t quite his own because he could; he had a pack to call for now, if only just for Stiles. He could call for Scott. The car keys were digging into his hand. He could howl; he had to tell them about Stiles so he should howl, he should call. He held tightly to the keys, still slightly bent from that time when Stiles refused him. If he hadn't, perhaps Stiles would have crossed the rift, too. This pain, this time, was salvation.

It didn't make anything better; it hurt.

The leaves were sticking to the wounds and the pain was making him nauseous. His lips were almost burned together. Peter howled. His chest hurt, and he tightened the hold he had on the keys. Stiles was still trapped. He would never make it through the rift; he was only human. Peter tried to howl again, and the trees swirled around him. Darkness threatened to follow soon after, but it didn’t. He should've never fallen for a dead man walking, but he trusted Stiles would find a way even if this way was Peter burning in the woods. Again, again, not again, please.

Peter felt himself being pulled from a dream. Reality itself seemed to bend around him and, suddenly, he found himself staring at Scott's confused face. There was no recognition in his eyes. Peter could feel himself starting to panic. He was no stranger to the pain of being burned but it didn't make it easier or likable; he didn’t know what to do with the fact that no one remembered him. There was green smoke on the edges of his vision, bleeding into the scene, and he could barely make up Scott's words. He thought he would pass out from the pain and here was Scott trying to take his – a stranger’s – pain. Peter was thankful for the kindness for a split of second before Scott became Derek and Derek's eyes were hard and his arm was stretched out so he Peter could see his claws ready to strike, ready to slash Peter’s throat. He was going to kill Peter; he was going to be the Alpha. Peter would have flinched if he could, but he found himself unable to move.

He was confused, and he couldn’t breathe. Everything hurt. He felt like he was being punished for trying to escape the Hunt, but no one was chasing him. It was his mind playing tricks on him. He couldn’t move. It was already decided but before Derek could strike the final blow, the world swirled in green smoke again and Peter found himself staring, unblinking, at Derek's concerned face as he asked for help.

“…killed Laura. Your niece. Laura? Whoever he is…”

Peter listened as he asked for a sign. He tried to blink, to show him that he was listening. He wanted Derek to know everything. Derek who looked so young and lost. Panic took over; he couldn’t blink, he couldn’t move.

He wasn’t burning anymore but his body wasn’t his own. He felt pinned in place as if someone had drugged him, trapped him. He desperately wanted to give Derek a sign. Peter could feel power within himself but it wasn't enough to make his body obey. He tried to glow his eyes; Derek yelled at him. He had this dream a dozen times before, he remembered this.

“Just give me anything. Blink, raise a finger, anything. Say something!”

Peter focused on his hands. There was a weight on them; it was as if raising a finger was the same as moving whatever it is that was holding him down. He wanted to move it. He wanted nothing more now. He focused on his hand and that’s when he noticed the key. Stiles. It wasn’t a dream; the Hunt had sent him back.

Peter focused on the key, trying to squeeze it. It was real. His heart started beating faster; it’d have been impossible for Derek to not hear it. He saw that in Derek’s face.

“Wha—”

“What are you doing!?” Peter remembered his nurse. He didn’t expect her to kick Derek out anyway but that was exactly what she did; just like she had done before. It felt like a déjà vu. “You think after six years of this, yelling at him is going to get a response?”

Peter didn’t understand what was happening. He seemed to be in the past and things seemed to be happening as they should but…but he remembered, he knew it. He had lived this before, he wasn’t supposed to be here, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Derek wasn’t supposed to give Peter a suspicious glance and go quietly. He was angry, he was frustrated. Peter remembered it.

Peter’s heart was beating faster; he didn’t seem to be able to calm himself down. Was he crazy? Did he imagine it all? Did he dream it?

No, he had the keys. He had proof. Something went wrong when he tried to escape the train station. Fuck, Stiles was still waiting. Did Stiles exist in this universe? Was it the same universe? Peter tried to calm himself down and listen. He waited until Derek left. His nurse was talking to him, but he paid her no attention. He remembered it, he knew what happened now.

Jennifer checked the window, watching as Derek drove past the hospital. “I left the picture in his car,” she assured Peter as if Peter had given her orders to do so. She moved his wheelchair away from the window. “It’s almost nightfall,” she commented, helping Peter into the bed. The weight was suddenly gone; it was her. He remembered.

Peter could remember her so clearly. She should be dead. He looked up, tilting his head with some difficulty. His body felt so heavy but he could move better than when Derek had been around.

She had been dead for so long. A litany of “no" formed itself in his head. The nausea was back. Something was wrong and he had never noticed before, too consumed by grief and pain.

"I realize your _adventures_ have given you a sense of freedom, but you must be careful," she said. "Your recovery requires time."

His heart was pounding. The only proof he had that he didn't go crazy or imagine a future life for himself was the key he was holding. He refused to open his fist, afraid of letting go of the keys. Afraid they would vanish if he were to open his hand. He needed proof that his Stiles existed but no one would know of him yet.

Peter didn't know how long he stayed lying down in bed, holding to the keys as if they were his lifeline but it must have been a long time because dinner was served and out of the blue there was howling coming from the school. He remembered it. He knew how the night would go, he...Stiles. He wondered if Stiles would be there, if there was a Stiles to be there at all.

He wondered if he had to go. If things were supposed to be the same. He already messed up with Derek; he made him suspicious. He should fix it, he should go to the school and do things exactly as he had done them before. Except…if Stiles was there he could talk to him, he could find him and show him his memories. Peter wasn’t sure they were memories but if they weren’t memories, the keys…he had to tell someone, he had to save Stiles. He could save a version of Stiles. It didn't mean he would abandon his own Stiles, he couldn't...he wouldn't...

Peter was running out of time. In the end, he chose to go to the school. He chose to attack Derek and terrify Scott and Stiles, just like he remembered doing. They ran, and they hid, and Peter prowled around the building, waiting. He remembered chasing Stiles when he came out and he planned on catching him this time. He ran and tackled him, using his body against Stiles’ to pin him down, forgetting Scott was even nearby. He cupped Stiles’ neck, ready to press in the claws when Scott body-slammed him, surprising him long enough that the two teenagers ran back into the school. Peter could hear them. It was as if things had to happen as they did before despite Peter’s interference. It was as if time wanted corrected itself.

Peter felt tired. He didn’t want to relive the same life again and again. His throat felt tight and he felt like a failure; he couldn’t leave Stiles behind at the train station. He roared, frustrated. He would catch this Stiles and show him; he would find a way. He chased them through the school, growing angry and more frustrated as they ran from him. He only needed a few seconds. Lydia arrived with the Argent girl and Jackson; Peter could feel his chance slipping through his fingers. He would have to break into the chemistry lab; he would have to let them see him.

He followed them silently as they went to meet with Allison. It wasn’t the time to terrify them yet. He saw Jackson, waiting for Lydia and moved along; if only it had been Stiles. And then, it happened. Stiles, a few steps behind. Peter was sure he could get him; he was faster than Scott, he was more experience than him. Even if his control was slipping, he knew what he would do, and he knew Scott was in love. Peter waited and ran for his prey, covering his mouth with a monstrous hand but wasting no time before he dug his claws into Stiles’ neck to show him his memories. He needed Stiles to know what was coming. It only took a moment and he wished he could have kept his feelings away from the memories, but Stiles – even if it was just a Stiles and not the one he left behind – needed to know what Peter knew. Peter had no idea how long he would be here or if he was here at all.

The thought that he could be stuck falling through worlds of memories without ever going back to a reality he could live in scared him and he let go of Stiles who scrambled away from him, staring at him with wide eyes. Peter got on all fours and ran away; he wasn’t done chasing them for the night, but he had done what he had set to do.

It was like a book he had read a thousand times, except slightly different in such subtle ways that Peter kept questioning if he imagined reading the book at all. Perhaps it was all a dream. At the hospital, he asked for a thread, so he could have the keys like a pendant around his neck. Peter didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if reliving his life was enough to save Stiles or if he was sent back to change everything exactly because there was no way for them to save Stiles. He didn’t want to think that the person he left at the train station was gone forever and he had no idea when he had become so hopeful except he knew it wasn’t hope that kept him wondering.

It took a week for Stiles to do anything with the memories Peter had shared with him. Peter, knowing him – a version of him, knew he would not come without a plan and so he waited. He waited and did what he had to do. He avenged his family again. He tried to not go crazy. He tried to keep in mind that this wasn’t his life to live, that these weren’t his decisions to make, that everything had been already decided.

Except for Stiles. He refused to give up on Stiles.

Stiles sneaked up into Peter’s room, more suspicious than he needed to be and looking more pissed than Peter expected. He had expected anger – after all, he violated Stiles mind and Stiles wasn’t as forgiving as said…Lydia would be – but he hadn’t expected the pissed off teen than seemed ready to shove the baseball bat that was poorly hidden under his jacket up Peter’s ass as if he didn’t know Peter could become a huge and ferocious beast that could snap that bat in two as if it were a twig.

“So,” Stiles began, hanging out by the door, looking over his shoulder to be sure no nurse was coming that way before he quickly got into the room and closed the door. “I think we have a lot to discuss.”

Peter tilted his head, cracking his neck a little. He smiled.

“Hello, Stiles,” he said softly.

“Don’t you ‘hello, Stiles' me,” he rubbed his face as if that could wipe away the annoyance he was feeling. Peter could smell it on him. “What the fuck, man. What the fuck as in you mind rape me, then you try to kill us then you fuck off and kill some other people,” he stared at Peter and waved his hands, and, with it, the bat, as it the absurdity of it needed emphasis. “And you’re supposed to be this what? Catatonic guy? What the everloving fuck, dude!?”

Peter had missed Stiles. No, Peter missed Stiles because this was not Stiles. Not his Stiles. He wondered if his Stiles was still alive, if he even existed at all.

“Are you from the future?” Stiles asked when Peter didn’t say anything.

“Something like that.”

“Can we not do the whole cryptic stuff? I saw you and me and what looked a lot like the future. Are we…” he paused, frowning. “Did we…” he gestured to indicate the space between them.

Peter wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Trust Stiles to focus on such things.

“No.”

“It felt like i—”

“There was nothing between us,” Peter clarified. He never said a word to the original Stiles and if he could’ve shown his memories to this copy without sharing his feelings he would’ve done so, but here they were with more information shared between them that Peter ever wished for. “That is not what’s important.”

“I saw it. I know—”

The door opened, interrupting what Stiles was about to say. Jennifer looked shocked to find someone with her patient.

“Young man, visiting hours are over,” she told Stiles and Peter knew Derek was bonded to show up now. It was like a game he had played before.

He opened his mouth to tell Stiles to run, but as he did so, Derek pulled Jennifer by the back of her uniform and threw her back without a care.

“Stiles, run! He’s the alpha!”

Peter was tired of everything repeating itself. He closed his eyes and considered letting Derek kill him.

“Derek, wait!”

He was startled by Stiles still being there. He remembered his own Stiles; he would have found a way to cross through dimensions and tell the pack what they needed to know. Maybe this Stiles could help. Maybe this pack could help. Maybe all Peter had to do was to endure.

And so Peter did. He followed the script and endured.

In the end, there was a story to be left untold in the way Stiles watched as Lydia ran towards him, trying to get away from the beast chasing her at the night of the formal. He knew it had to be. Stiles watched as she screamed for help, pinned in place and betraying the girl of his dreams. He knew she would survive. There was a story to be left untold in the way he ran to her a moment too late as she was falling and there was nothing to be done but call her name and hope it wasn’t too late. The scene was mesmerizing. Peter – the beast – was mesmerizing but it wasn’t what kept Stiles away, it wasn’t what kept him waiting and Peter knew it because he shared that secret.

“It was so difficult, Stiles, but, here,” Peter sighed in relief and closed his eyes. “We are finally here.”

“This isn’t how it happens,” Stiles told him, watching Lydia. He dared a glance at Peter because he knew no harm would come to him. “Things are different from the memories you showed me. I wasn't here.”

“You’ll call Jackson and he’ll come save her,” Peter informed Stiles as if he hadn’t heard a word. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to clean his face and his claws. They had to go.  “And you’ll come with me. You have to, Stiles.”

Stiles got up, watching the man in front of himself. Lydia wouldn’t die; he knew that already.

"We didn't have this conversation either," he said and Peter looked ready to give up. Everything was different about Stiles; maybe it would save him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll go with you, but we are not replaying this movie. You can’t make me into someone else.”

“I know.”

“I want the bite.”

Stiles held Peter’s gaze for a few seconds before pulling out his phone to call Jackson. Peter would do anything to save him; Stiles refused to feel guilty for another version of himself who didn’t make it. Maybe, if he survived long enough, he could find a way to help, but he wouldn’t feel guilty for having the information that allowed him to survive. It didn’t come easy. He could see it eating at Peter’s control. The way he spoke softly and in pauses was terrifying, more so than the snarls and screaming now that Stiles had seen what Peter was really like.

“You need the bite,” Peter said in the end, after the call. Maybe this was the wrong he was sent back to correct.

Stiles followed him in silence when he was ready. He wasn’t sure why Peter wanted it to be in the same garage he had shown Stiles from his memories, but he was sure that was the place he was having Stiles drive them. He knew about the nurse dead in Peter’s trunk and he remembered her. He remembered going to see Peter and all hell breaking loose because Derek found out he was the Alpha. That woman had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t feel bad for her; he wondered if his other self did. He wondered a lot about his other self. He never expected Peter to let himself be tortured in order to save Stiles – a Stiles – even if not the Stiles driving him around at the moment. Mentally tortured that is. Sometimes Stiles wondered if it was the trauma or the being back that caused the sadness in Peter’s voice. He was never sure after Peter showed him everything. If Stiles was honest, he would not want to live that life again either.

Peter was glad things were coming to an end. Maybe when he died once, he would be pulled back from this. Maybe he would see green around the edges and be pulled from fire to fire and things would fix themselves again.

He wondered if he didn’t go mad – burned again, in a coma again, broken again again again again, just repeating the same mistakes and living the same life until there was nothing left but to imagine a Stiles who was safe. He touched the keys, pressing them again his chest; they were still there. He held Stiles' wrist.

“Do you want the bite?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“Maybe, when the Hunt comes for me, this will help save your Stiles, too.”

It wouldn’t. Deep down, Peter knew it wouldn’t.

“Yes. Hopefully, it will,” he said softly. He closed his eyes and bit down on Stiles’ wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading it!!
> 
> i'm not very confident with rewrites and what caught my attention the most was what would justify one. so i was wondering what could justify the change and it occurred to me to have peter cross the rift and be stuck in a time loop but with all the knowledge of having lived that life before so he tries to act differently but he's also very afraid to act differently and lose stiles because ultimately he grabbed the keys to try to help stiles.  
> anyway, the title is a reference to the song pet sematary by ramones which is itself a reference to the book so yeah, peter really didn't want to live his life again
> 
> also thank you koko for giving me courage to post it <3


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